


tear up the planks

by estrella30



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stares at the dildo some more, then places it carefully back on top of the condoms and lube and slides the drawer closed. He’s just going to forget he ever saw it; that’s the only thing to do, really. He and Harry are best mates but if Harry’s never mentioned to him that he sometimes gets lads off in his bed with toys, well, that’s apparently Harry’s business to keep. Nick’s fine about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tear up the planks

**Author's Note:**

> this is for mediaville based on a prompt that she gave me for a fic she wanted bc I LOVE HER AND SHE IS THE BEST <333333333
> 
> thanks to rivers bend for the beta and britpick! any remaining mistakes are my own.

*

Nick stares down at the dildo in his hand and wonders how this is a thing that is actually happening in his life. 

Like. It's actually happening. What he really needs to do is stop bloody staring at it, put the dildo _down_ and move on. It’s the only solution, really. 

Except…except that he’s curious, is the thing, because it’s not like the dildo was sitting in the middle of Harry’s kitchen table for all the world to see but it wasn’t exactly hidden either. Lying right on top of a box of condoms and lube and nestled next to a pair of thick, padded handcuffs (and, Christ - _handcuffs_ ) in a drawer is hardly a stealth hiding spot. Harry didn’t advertise it, but he knew Nick was going to be staying at his when Harry was away and he had to figure Nick was going to snoop. It’s not as if they’ve just met; Harry knows him by now.

(The worst part is that Nick wasn’t even supposed to be at Harry’s. Finchy had offered Nick to stay at his while Nick was getting his floors done, but only went and changed his mind when he realized it was the same week his mum was coming. Of course Harry overheard the conversation and insisted, and that, pretty much was that. Still, though, if you look at it that way maybe this whole thing isn’t Nick’s fault at all. Maybe it’s _Finchy’s_ fault, the bastard.

That’s the story Nick’s going to stick with at least.)

Not that the real problem is who to blame in this scenario – Finchy for withdrawing his invite or Harry for leaving his sex toys in such an obvious spot – the problem is more what Nick’s going to do with this information now that he has it. 

Because – because the thing is Nick would be fine with the dildo if it was something he could figure Harry used with girls, but Nick knows it’s not. He's seen enough of Gill's and Aimee's toys to know what girls like, and he's been in the shops in SoHo, and this is definitely a boy's toy and that, coupled with the handcuffs, sets Nick’s mind reeling. 

 

He stares at the dildo some more, then places it carefully back on top of the condoms and lube and slides the drawer closed. He’s just going to forget he ever saw it; that’s the only thing to do, really. He and Harry are best mates but if Harry’s never mentioned to him that he sometimes gets lads off in his bed with toys, well, that’s apparently Harry’s business to keep. Nick’s fine about it. 

Really. He is.

*

“I just don’t understand how it’s never come up,” Nick huffs to Aimee over wine and pizza. They’re out to lunch and Harry’s due back tomorrow, and Nick has been trying his hardest to stop thinking about the sleek blue toy sitting innocently in Harry’s drawer where Nick returned it and never took it back out again. 

(That part is a lie. Nick’s not stopped looking at it since the day he saw it. He should possibly think about stopping lying to himself sometime in the future. Anytime would be good, really.)

“Ha!” Aimee giggles and raises her wine glass in the air. “Come up!”

“Oh my god, can you _focus_?” Nick huffs. He still has no idea why he told anyone – let alone Aimee who’s done nothing but take the piss since – about Harry’s hidden toy. 

“No, but did you get it?” Aimee blinks drunkenly. “ _Come up_. Like his _dick_. Are you getting the pun?”

“Yes, Aims, I’m getting the—“

“I’m really _punny_ today, right, Grimmy?” she asks then bursts out laughing again. Nick is possibly going to go and lock himself in the loo for an hour until she gets bored and wanders off. Christ knows she’s done it before. 

“Yes, you’re hilarious, we should get you an opening act and a stage you’re such a riot.”

Aimee’s eyes go big. “Hey, do you really think—“

“ _No_ I don’t think you should go into stand up for the love of the Queen. Can we just—“ Nick waves his hands around in the air. “Can we just focus on me and Harry and why Harry’s never mentioned in all the time I’ve known him that he most likely fucks lads up the arse with sex toys in his flat? I mean is that a thing we can get to in this conversation?”

Aimee rolls her eyes and takes a huge bite of her pizza. “How do you know he’s fucking other guys with it?”

“Because I’ve seen these things, love,” Nick says patiently. He’s already told her this a billion times. “I’ve seen ones for men and for women and this is definitely not the kind you’ve got hidden away in your own knicker drawer.”

“No, I mean like,” she wipes her mouth on a napkin and takes a long swig of her wine. “Like with mine, I mean, sure, sometimes I use it with Ian—“

“Oh god,” Nick puts his hands over his ears. “I thought we came to an understanding that we were only going to talk about what you and Ian get up to in bed when I’m too pissed to remember the details in the morning. I have to _work_ with the man, Aimee.”

“No, God, you’re such a twat,” Aimee leans over the table to smack Nick across the head. She rolls her eyes again and says, “What I was saying was that I use it with Ian _sometimes_ but mostly I just use mine on myself. Like, _I_ use it.”

Nick stares up at the ceiling. Who knew there could be so many tiles in such a small café? “Why are you telling me this?”

Aimee’s quiet for a second and then she says, “Are you being purposely obtuse or are you really not getting it?”

Nick looks down and shakes his head at her. He feels his eyebrows scrunch together. “What—“

“Maybe Harry uses it on _himself_ is what I’m saying,” she says slowly and clearly. 

Nick blinks. “I—“

“You never thought of that, did you?” Aimee smirks. “God, I bet he looks so fucking pretty, all spread out on his bed and—“

Nick throws some notes on the table and stand up so quickly his chair nearly tips over backward. He just – he hadn’t thought of that yet, his brain too stuck on the idea of Harry using it on someone else, lying them out and fucking into them with his hand and just—

“You, are a terrible person,” he points at Aimee and grabs his jacket. Aimee claps her hands gleefully and cheers. 

“Yay! Today I win!”

“You win for being the biggest knob at the table, yes.”

“Whoo!” she shouts, earning a disapproving glare from the boring looking couple at the table next to them. 

“Sorry,” Nick apologizes. “She was dropped on her head a lot as a baby.”

“You love me,” Aimee points a finger at Nick and giggles again when he flips her off and strides from the table. “Tell Harry I said hello!” she bellows with a cackle. 

When all this is over Nick might have to invest in some new friends.

*

Harry’s not due back for another day so Nick has even more time to wander around his flat and touch things he’s not supposed to. He dumps out all the spices in Harry’s spice jars and puts them back in different containers and rearranges all the clothes in his dresser. He tries not to think about Harry fucking himself in the arse with a dildo but, well, Nick’s only human and now that the idea is in there it’s hard to get it back out. 

He just – Harry’s so bloody _fit_. He’s gorgeous, all long limbs and pale skin and dark tattoos. Nick wonders what Harry thinks about when he gets himself off (because now that Aimee said it that’s the only thing Nick can think about. Gone is the faceless man Harry had been playing with in Nick’s fantasies until now, now it’s only Harry and Harry’s hands and face and skin and chest and arse.)

Nick wonders what Harry thinks about when he does it. Does he go online and watch videos or does he have things to watch on the telly? Does he not need them at all, just going at it on his own with his own thoughts? Is Harry loud or quiet? Does he like it fast or slow?

Nick pictures Harry’s hands on the dildo, fingers slipping over the plastic, spreading lube and then reaching around to finger himself slowly first before pressing the toy inside. Nick wonders if Harry goes right for it straight away or does he start off slow, working it in little by little, getting himself used to the feel before pushing back.

Nick stares at the drawer the dildo is in and pretends for roughly six seconds that he’s not going to open it again. 

It’s just such a pretty thing; smooth and clear bright blue. There’s a switch on the bottom and oh, if that isn’t bloody wonderful, it’s a _vibrator_ even. Christ. Nick wonders what he can figure out about Harry by looking at it, if he can somehow gauge how Harry uses it on himself just from the sight of it. 

“If only you could talk,” Nick says then realizes he’s talking to Harry Styles’ vibrator, and promptly wants to set himself on fire. He shoves it back in the drawer and flees the flat so quickly he nearly brains himself two separate times on the way out. 

*  
“So dinner was interesting last night,” Harry’s sat back in his seat at the pub finishing off his pint and glaring at Nick accusingly. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I went to add cumin to something and garlic came out. And then I needed cinnamon but it was some sort of pepper.”

“Huh,” Nick swirls the wine in his glass and doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “Strange.”

Harry’s silent for a moment and then he kicks out hard catching Nick’s ankle with the toe of his boot. “Ouch!”

“That’s what you get for fucking with my stuff,” Harry huffs. Nick looks up then and Harry’s trying to glare at him but his eyes are crinkled too much and his lips are quirked in a little grin. “I can’t believe you did that. Christ, Nick, I had to throw away everything I was making and call for a bloody takeaway.”

“Oh come on, love, that was a brilliant prank,” Nick tuts. Harry grins at him then and Nick knows he’s not cross, not really. “You can’t tell me you were surprised.”

Harry shrugs then, slow and lazy. “Nah, to be honest I was surprised that was all there was. Well, the spices and my dresser drawers but even that was pretty low key. Slow couple of days, Grimmy?” Harry pushes his glass away when the barman comes over and declines a refill. 

“Eh,” Nick lifts his shoulder and tries to look nonchalant. He hopes his face isn’t going as pink as it feels. He hopes that the words _WHAT ABOUT THE SEX TOYS IN YOUR DRAWER???_ aren’t flashing across his forehead like he’s imagining they are. “Decided to be nice for a change.”

Harry snorts. He stands up and starts shrugging on his coat and Nick assumes that means they’re leaving. “You coming back to mine?” Harry asks. Nick wants to shout No! Absolutely not! Never again! but one, that might look slightly insane and two, then Harry adds, “You left your bag with all your crap in my living room. Figured you might be needing it,” and _shit_. Nick does need that bag. Apparently in his haste to flee the scene the day before, he left half of his stuff on Harry’s living room floor. Lovely. 

“Come on,” Harry curves his hand under Nick’s elbow and leads him through the pub and out to the carpark. “You can drive to mine and then we’ll have a drink and you can grab your stuff, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nick says weakly. “Strong planning, Styles.”

*

Harry opens a bottle of Merlot and leaves it to breathe while he changes into joggers and a t-shirt Nick is more than sixty-percent certain is actually his. He tries not to stand awkwardly in the hall and stare at Harry’s bedroom door while Harry’s in there, but the vibrator is in there too so Nick does. He stands and he stares, and when Harry walks out and Nick’s in the same spot as he left him, Harry cocks his head to the side and says, “I thought you were going to get the glasses?” and Nick finally fucking _moves_.

It’s just – it’s unfair, really, for him to have these thoughts stuck in his head all the time. He fiddles in Harry’s cabinets and then fills them two glasses and sits on the far end of Harry’s couch from where he’s sprawled himself. 

“Thanks,” Harry smiles and takes a long sip, humming quietly and leaning his head back against the cushions. He looks relaxed and comfortable and loose limbed and Nick doesn’t know for sure but he’d be willing to bet this is what Harry looks like when he’s lying in bed and getting himself off with his toys and _fuck_ , there he goes again, thinking about Harry and his goddamned sex face. 

Nick’s heart thumps and he starts to feel sweaty and lightheaded. He feels Harry shifting around and then Harry says, “Hey,” and Nick jerks his head around to look at him because apparently he’s been staring at Harry’s bedroom door this entire time _without even realizing it_. 

“What? I’m not looking at anything.”

Harry sits up and blinks slowly. “Um. Ok? I didn’t say you were?”

“No, I know, I’m fine, this wine’s good, yeah?” Nick knocks back half his glass in one go. The wine burns his throat and makes his eyes water and Harry is still staring at him like he’s gone insane. 

“Yeahhh,” Harry says. He rubs a thumb over his bottom lip and honestly, that’s not even fair. “You sure you’re all right?”

Nick looks back at the bedroom door and stands up because he apparently can’t be in the vicinity of Harry’s bedroom without obsessing about the things inside it. It’s as if all he can think about is the vibrator and Harry with the vibrator and what Harry looks like, his hands and fingers and chest and face and _Christ_ , bloody fucking hell, he can almost _hear_ it now, the dull buzz when it’s switched on. It’s like Nick’s stuck inside the story of the Tell-Tale Heart, but instead of a beating trapped under the floorboards it’s a buzzing being muffled in a drawer by condoms and lube. 

“I’m good, yeah, great, just. I should go,” he finally spits out. Harry’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion and Nick would feel bad if he weren’t so desperate to get the hell away from him. “I’ll just—“ he grabs his jacket and bolts for the door, turning around halfway there to backtrack and grab his bag before running out with a quick wave and a promise to ring Harry in the morning. 

*

Nick gets home and bangs his head against various flat surfaces for a while before digging his mobile out and texting Harry. 

_soz about tonight must have eaten something funny…lunch tomorrow to make up for it?? Xx_

It takes a few minutes for Harry to text back but when he does he seems fine, not cross with Nick about anything from earlier which is good. 

_yeah you seemed weirder than usual haha tomorrow is great text me in the am xxx_

And all right. This is – this is good. Maybe Nick just wasn’t prepared to see Harry quite so soon after his discovery. Maybe he should have had a little more practice, worked himself up to it. This is a lot of information he’s got now; he can’t just go blindly into situations without being ready for them. Maybe he just – maybe he needs some sort of training. 

Nick kicks off his trainers and grabs his laptop while he settles himself on the couch. It doesn’t take long for him to have a Google page open, and he clicks to images and plugs in Harry’s name and, well, this is fine. It’s not so bad, really. Lots of press pictures, a bunch Nick’s already seen. Harry at awards shows and on stage and at charity events. 

Clearly this isn’t going to prove anything. Nick needs something else, something more. He needs to look at something which is going to scream _YES THIS. THIS REMINDS YOU OF THE DILDO, YEAH?_ that way when he sees Harry again tomorrow he won’t be taken by surprise again like he was tonight with Harry all sprawled out on the sofa being terrible and touching his mouth with his criminally long fingers, and oh. 

That’s it. 

Nick opens another Google page but this time he types in _Harry Styles hands_ and waits for it to load and—

Oh. Well. 

This was possibly a mistake. 

The page loads and loads and loads. Nick can’t even believe how many pictures there are with just Harry’s hands and wrists and fingers enlarged and it just – it’s not helping, really. If Nick thought this was supposed to _keep_ him from thinking about Harry getting himself off with a dildo in his bed he was pretty highly mistaken. 

Harry’s hands are just so _big_. Big in span but still oddly delicate looking, his fingers showing the bones of his knuckles and, the curve of his thumb and Nick imagines them slicked with lube, sliding over Harry’s cock and then around to his hole. He pictures Harry flat on his bed, his feet planted firm on the mattress as he fingers himself slowly, breath choking hard in his chest. His skin is probably so pink and Nick wonders if he’s quiet all the time or does he get loud when there’s no one around and just—

Nick slams the laptop shut and presses the heel of his hand against his own aching prick because _fuck_ , him getting hard and whacking off to pictures of his best mates fingers on the internet was definitely a place Nick had never planned on going. Ever. 

“You are truly a knob,” Nick chastises himself, then throws himself face first onto the bed.

*

Nick didn’t think it was possible but he’s even _more_ distracted during lunch the next day with Harry than he was the day before. They meet up in a sandwich shop, and by the time Nick gets there Harry’s already sat in the back with a cheese toastie and a bottle of water. Nick orders the same for himself and makes his way to the table with his food a few minutes later. 

“Hi,” Harry beams. He takes a huge bite of his sandwich and grins around a mouthful of food. “Feeling better today?”

Nick nods and sits down. Maybe he should have googled Harry’s mouth last night instead of his hands. Sure, Nick’s not thinking about Harry sucking him off or anything (oh Christ, at least he _wasn’t_ , thanks so much, brain) but maybe thinking about his mouth, his _lips_ , how he would sound breathing out shaky and hard as he fingered himself, maybe that would have been a better way to go.

“So the lads and I were thinking, you know how we do that thing at the show on the lifts? Like when we’re up over the crowd?”

Nick nods distractedly. He’s still stuck on Harry fucking himself but now that he said the words _the lads_ Nick wonders if maybe he’s missing an entirely _other_ part of this. Because he thought first Harry was fucking other guys with it and then Aimee said he was probably fucking himself with it, but what if there’s a third possibility here? 

What if _other guys_ are fucking _Harry_ with it? What if the dildo is there because Harry likes getting fucked but doesn’t want to do it himself all the time? What if he has people over – people he’s seeing or someone he’s pulled or whoever – and what if he lets _them_ do it to him? The idea gets Nick instantly hard and blindingly jealous at the same time, a hot jolt of anger curling through his belly. 

“Well I suggested that the next time we do it I’m just going to jump off, like, right into the fucking crowd. That’d be sick, yeah? Just throw myself bodily on top of thousands of fans. Maybe I’ll grow wings to help break my fall.”

Nick blinks. He deeply wishes he had some idea what Harry was talking about. “Um.”

“Nick, _look at me_.” Harry smacks his hand onto the table and that’s enough to startle Nick out of whatever fugue state he’s put himself into. Harry never gets angry, not really, but when Nick sheepishly looks up and catches his eye Harry looks properly cross, eyes pinched and mouth set in a deep frown. 

“What the hell, Nick?” Harry huffs. “You’ve been acting like a twat since I got back, and don’t give me some crap answer about food poisoning or summat. You’ve been staring into space and not looking at me and not paying attention to a damn word I’ve been saying and I want to know why.”

Nick opens his mouth to blow Harry off again; to try and make something up and fluff over what the real issue is but he can’t do it. This is something that’s apparently not going away and the longer Nick lets it fester the worse it’s getting, not better. If he has any hopes of Harry staying his friend after he tells him the truth Nick needs to tell him soon. Now, actually, because Harry looks impatient and Nick can’t seem to stop staring at his hands and fingers and mouth long enough to have an actual conversation. 

“I’m a twat,” Nick finally says, dropping his head into the palm of his hand. 

Harry kicks him under the table and snorts. “Well yeah. Obviously. Now why are you acting weird, though?”

Nick sighs heavily. “Remember when I stayed at yours?”

“You mean like two days ago?” Harry asks. “I’m pretty sure I remember that.”

“And you know how I fucked around in your cabinets, moving the spices and your clothes and such.”

He chances a glance up at Harry who’s frowning at him darkly now. “I do remember the spices, yes.”

“Well, when I was in your room rearranging all of your drawers I kind of…went into all your drawers,” Nick says quietly. He lifts his head up and watches, waiting for the moment when he sees the recognition flick across Harry’s face. 

Harry just sits there, staring blankly. “Alright.”

“ _All_ of your drawers, Harry,” Nick emphasizes. 

It takes a second but Nick sees when Harry gets it finally, when he understand what Nick really means, because his face goes from confused to surprised to smug in about six seconds flat. “ _Oh_ ,” Harry leans back into his chair and folds his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side and smirking. “All my drawers, yeah?”

Nick licks his lips. “Yeah.”

“Even the bedside table one I’m guessing. The one with the condoms and the lube and the—“

“Yep, yes, that’s the one, yes,” Nick hurries to cut him off. He’s staring down at his hands now, sandwich forgotten and pushed to the side. Nick just – “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. I wasn’t _really_ snooping, just fucking around, but then I saw it and…” he trails off and waves his hands in the air helplessly. “Well. I found it. Soz.”

Harry’s quiet. Not that he’s ever particularly loud, but this quiet is a heavy kind of silence. Nick doesn’t know what Harry’s thinking and that’s odd for them. Not that Harry’s a completely open book, but Nick usually has some kind of idea what Harry’s got on his mind, where his thoughts are headed. This though; Nick can’t even begin to guess about this. 

“So,” Harry finally says. “What’d you think?”

“I,” Nick flounders. “It seems nice? Good size. I just—“

“Did you want to ask me anything about it?” Harry asks quietly. Nick chances a glance, and Harry’s watching him, eyes dark, mouth bitten red and wet. Nick almost forgets they’re in public, in a bloody sandwich shop goodness sake. He stares at Harry helplessly, wondering if Harry can see all the questions in the way Nick’s not looking away from him. How he’s been wondering when Harry uses it and how he looks when he does and with who. 

“I. Maybe, yeah. I just—“

“No, you know what?” Harry stands up quickly and reaches for Nick’s hand. “Come with me.”

And what? Nick blinks quickly because no, really, he wasn’t planning on _going_ anywhere to talk about this, Christ.

Harry’s just standing there though, holding out his hand and waiting for Nick to get up and join him. “Nick. Come on,” Harry says one more time and this time Nick gets up and goes. 

*

They get back to Harry’ house in mostly silence, Nick trying to chase around all the thoughts rattling in his brain and Harry staring straight out the car window getting them home with a deadly focus. He parks the car and lets them into the flat and Nick’s barely got his jacket off when Harry’s walking into his bedroom, shedding pieces the clothes with every step he takes. Nick skirts around Harry’s coat and then steps over his shirt and nearly trips over Harry’s trainers. By the time he makes it to the room, Harry’s shucking his jeans and shaking his hair out, wearing nothing but a pair of small black pants and his socks. 

“Harry,” Nick licks his lips. His voice sounds scratchy and thick. He wonders what the hell is going on. “What are you doing?”

“You have questions, yeah?” Harry’s tipped his chin up. He’s trying to sound completely in control and defiant but Nick hears the shake in his voice. He can see the slight wobble to his chin. “I figured I’d just show you since you seem so curious and all.” He meets Nick’s eyes, and need licks through him so sudden and desperate his knees nearly buckle. “That all right with you?”

Nick takes a slow step forward. He knows that this is Harry offering, but the moment still feels oddly fragile, like somehow this is bigger than he expected it to be. The weight of it is pressing down into the room. “Yeah, I’d like that. If you want me to know, that is. If you want to show me.”

“I do, yeah,” Harry nods eagerly. He lets his chin touch his chest and sucks in a breath. Nick’s gone too long without touching him so he does now, just the tips of his fingers on Harry’s shoulder, his thumb pressing into the dark of the tip of the bird tattoo, and Harry shivers. Harry reaches out and curls his fingers around Nick’s wrist, pulling him along as Harry walks to the bed and climbs on, yanking the bedside drawer open when he goes. 

“I should have figured you’d go snooping in here, you dirty fucker,” Harry breathes. He pulls out the lube and the dildo and Nick tries not to stare at it too hard, tries not to let his gaze linger or his look get too hungry, but he’s been waiting for this since the moment he pulled open the drawer and saw it lying in front of him. He’s had nothing in his head for days except the idea of Harry in his bed fucking himself with his fingers and with his toy and now he’s here and it’s happening and it’s a little too much all at once. Nick feels his chest go tight and he looks up to Harry’s face quickly. 

“You know you don’t have to do this is you don’t want to,” Nick says before he can think too much about it. “If this isn’t something you want then—“

“Didn’t you want to ask me anything?” Harry’s already lying back, feet planted firmly on the mattress just like Nick's imagined, and Nick crawls up next to him, his body moving without any instruction from his brain. He talks over Nick, blowing past Nick’s second guessing, and is already dribbling the lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together to spread the slick around as best he can. 

“I do,” Nick says because he does. Harry’s so fucking pretty, so gorgeous spread out like this. Nick feels his own dick start to harden just from the way Harry’s head is pressed back into his pillows. His hair fans out in a mess of dark curls, his cheeks and chest pink, mouth bitten red and wet. His eyes flutter closed as he slowly starts stroking himself, and Nick’s seen Harry without his clothes on before but never anything like this, flushed and hot, his dick a hard line curled into the palm of his hand. 

“Just - _fuck_ ,” Harry bites out, cursing as he thumbs the head of his cock roughly. He fucks up into his fist and this is great, it’s amazing, but Nick wants more. He glances at the dildo lying on the bed next to Harry’s other hand and picks it up, clicking it on and filling the room with the soft buzz. 

“Do you use this on yourself?” Nick asks. The dildo hums quietly in his hand. Nick curls his fingers around it and speeds up the rhythm. “I didn’t mean to find it but when I did that was all I could think about. Do you use this on yourself or on someone else?”

“Myself mostly,” Harry chokes out. He’s still jacking himself but stops after a moment to add more lube to his fingers then trail around his thigh, pressing up between his legs. “It feels really good; better than my fingers.” He waves his other hand at Nick impatiently and Nick doesn’t get it, can’t believe this is actually happening but then he realizes _fuck_. Harry wants Nick to give him the dildo _now_. For him to _use_.

Nick might actually die.

Nick hands it over and Harry smiles gratefully. His face is starting to dampen with sweat, hair sticking to his temples and around his forehead, and Nick’s dick is getting more and more uncomfortable in his trousers. He presses the heel of his hand against himself and Harry must notice, he must see, because he’s biting back a groan right as Nick does it, and shoving around so the dildo is behind him, his mouth falling open as the sound changes and he presses it inside. 

“Oh – Oh, fuck, Nick, I can’t—“

“You’re so bloody fucking gorgeous,” Nick breathes. He thought he’d imagined all there was to imagine about Harry doing this to himself, but he wasn’t prepared – nothing could have ever really prepared him for what Harry really looks like, what Nick is seeing with his own actual eyes. 

Harry’s just – he’s everything. He’s sexy and perfect and fit and funny, and the sounds he’s making are punching through Nick like a fist, every gasp, every moan curling through the air and settling into Nick’s skin, sliding deep into his bones. 

“Do you—“ Harry bites his lip. He turns his head to he’s watching Nick, and Nick wasn’t prepared, he doesn’t think he’d ever be prepared for watching Harry fuck himself while his eyes are locked with Nick’s. “Do you want to know what I think about? When I’m by myself and doing this?”

“Yeah,” Nick leans closer. He can smell Harry now, sweat and sex, and he dips his head, presses his mouth to the sharp edge of Harrys jaw. “Tell me.”

“I think about you,” Harry says and Nick’s dick jumps, his breath getting stuck hard in his chest. “I think about you touching me, fucking me. I think about your fingers and your hands and mouth and – fuck, Nick, your fucking _mouth_ \--“

“Do you let other people do this to you?” Nick doesn’t want the answer to be yes but he has to know. He’s so hard he’s aching and Harry catches his eyes, watches when Nick slides his hand into his jeans and down the front of his pants and chokes out a strangled cry. 

“Sometimes.”

“Would you – fuck,” Nick wanks himself hard, curling his fist tight and fucking up into the dry heat of it. He shoves his trousers down his legs and says, “Would you let me?”

Harry’s legs fall open wider and he arches his back, fucking himself fast and holding the dildo still while he jerks and comes all over himself, his hand never touching his own dick. Nick feels like he can’t breathe, like all the air’s been sucked from the room, and then Harry’s sliding the toy out and tossing it onto the bedside table to reach for Nick, pulling him in by the hips. 

“I want you to,” Harry tells him. He leans up and his lips bump the head of Nick’s cock. Nick feels his orgasm twisting up from his toes, up his legs curling hot and tight in his belly as Harry licks him again, just the tip of his tongue dragging up the side of his dick. “I want you to fuck me with your fingers and then I want you to fuck me for real, Nick, I’ve always wanted you to.”

“Christ, _Harry_ ,” Nick pants. He shoves Harry back with a hand to the chest and then moves so he nuts off all over Harry’s stomach, streaking over the edges of the butterfly and the underbellies of the birds in his come. 

Nick drops down, panting wetly against Harry’s shoulder. The room reeks of sex and come and he mouths Harry’s skin, laughing weakly when Harry cards his fingers through Nick’s damp hair. 

“So,” Harry trails off. “That was…”

Nick chuckles. “Yeah. That definitely was.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes. Nick hears Harry shuffling around, cleaning himself off and then dragging the covers over the both of them. “So I’m still pissed about the spice jars.”

Nick laughs sharply. “The spice jars? Really?”

“Well yeah,” Harry argues. “I mean, that ruined my dinner.”

Nick waits a beat. “And this?”

“Eh,” he feels Harry shrug. “Not sure this ruined anything at all.”

Something swells huge and happy in Nick’s chest. He bites down on Harry’s shoulder and feels Harry curl his arm around Nick’s side and pull him in closer. “That’s good,” Nick says. 

“Yeah. I mean,” Harry hedges. “I don’t know for sure.”

Nick pushes himself up on one shoulder so he can look down into Harry’s face. Harry’s smiling at him widely, his eyes crinkled happily at the corners. 

“Oh really,” Nick drones. “And why is that?”

“Well I mean, you haven’t even kissed me,” Harry pouts. “How am I supposed to know if I want you to keep hanging around if you’ve never even given me a measly kiss?”

Nick laughs, bright and sharp. “Don’t you think that’s doing things a little backward, Styles?”

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s us,” Harry grins, his smile bright and beaming. “Are you surprised?”

“Nah,” Nick leans in to cover Harry’s mouth with his. “For us it seems just about right.”

 

-end-


End file.
